


Down in the Underground

by Anonymous_Hannigram



Category: Hannibal (TV), Labyrinth (1986)
Genre: And Abigail Hobbs, BAMF Abigail, BAMF Beverly, First Fanfiction, Hannibal is Jareth, Hannibal is the Wendigo King, Kidnapping, M/M, Non-Graphic Rape/Non-Con, Not Beta Read, Only canonish to the end of ep. 1, Sad Will, Someone Help Will Graham, Though she gets herself into this mess, Transformation, Will gets kidnapped, mpreg later
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-09-05
Updated: 2014-09-05
Packaged: 2018-02-16 05:41:38
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,752
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2257917
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Anonymous_Hannigram/pseuds/Anonymous_Hannigram
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After being released from the hospital, Abigail is sent to live with Will; the man who (in her mind) ruined her life. This leads to a tense, and unpleasant atmosphere to surround the house, neither party moving an inch to change it. Beverly, Will's friend and the only one who can seem to get through to Abigail, decides that they should bond, and what better way than shopping in second-hand stores?</p>
<p> This ends about as well as you can imagine. Painful, and unenlightening. But hey, at least Abigail got a book out of it. Though she doesn't know why the book called out to her, why it pulled her towards it.</p>
<p>Such a strange book, 'The Labyrinth'</p>
            </blockquote>





	Down in the Underground

**Author's Note:**

> Uh, heh. First fanfiction. I don't know what I'm doing.

Abigail sighed, unpacking one of the many boxes that had seemingly followed her from Minnesota. It was just like the others, full of sentimental knick-knacks, burned thoroughly with past joys and memories. But now they were just reminders of what was, and can never again be.

Her family was long gone. Her mother killed by her father, and her father by the man she was now forced into the home of; unfortunately the only place that would take her after her release from the hospital. Alana, her psychiatrist, while naive and caring, was not an idiot. It was suspected that she had a hand in helping her father commit his murders. Obviously not the kind of person you would willingly allow into your home. No group home would take her, for the very same reason. She had no money to rent an apartment, and college wasn’t for a few months. So, of course, her psychiatrist lobbed her off to the may-or-may not be mental, empath. And, clearly feeling guilty and regretful- as he should- for stealing away her family, he agreed to let her remain at his house. It wasn’t an ideal situation for either of them.

Not that she wasn't grateful to him for letting her stay, she was, to an extent. Disregarding the fact that she wouldn’t be here in the first place if it weren’t for him, he at least seemed to be trying to get close to her. But he was trying to fill an impossible roll.

He would _never_ replace her father.

Angrily setting down one of the snow-globes from her family's trip to St. Louis, she paced back to the bed. It wasn’t like the man had really gone out of his way to make her feel unwelcome, quite the contrary, but she couldn't let him get close. She knew what would happen is she let him in, allowed him to become a parent for her; she would begin to forget. Forget the loving man who took her hunting, who taught her to speak and ride a bike. He would be replaced by the man who held a knife up to her throat. Who murdered her mother. No, no, she couldn’t let that happen. Wouldn’t let it. She would fool herself into believing it never happened. That they just died.

And if she had to hate her so called savior for that to happen? So be it.

Behind her the door swung open, the slap against the hardwood resonating in what was silence. With an irritated sigh, she swung around, ready to thoroughly dismiss whoever entered after she’d asked to be alone (honestly, was there no such thing as privacy anymore?); however, the words caught in her throat.

“Hey, Abbi? How’s the old dog's nest treating you?” Beverly pushed her hair behind her ear, face scrunching up at the layers of dust on the shelves, “It sure is… a room alright. And- uh... spacious.” She finished lamely.

If there was one good thing to come out of all of this, it was Will’s friends. Well, ‘ _friends_ ’. Abigail didn’t really think colleagues, who were paid to deal with you, counted. However, out of them all, Beverly was  her favorite. From her strange adherence to popular media, to the fact that her favorite hobbies included looking at dead bodies, and eating chinese take-out. She was a nice change, to all the horrors that plagued her life.

“Sure, it’s a bit,” Beverly pauses, looking around for show, “God awful, but I’m sure it’ll look better with a little color! A bit of furniture and ten gallons of febreze to will do this room wonders. Yep, that sounds perfect."

That was worth a laugh or two. The room was dusty, covered in dog hair, and smelled of stale sweat. Clearly, the profilers before she moved in. A tug played at her insides that he would willingly give her his room and bed, instead of simply throwing a blanket and pillow on the couch (as he had done for himself). This tug was ignored, though, pushed away with the single thought that if it hadn’t been for him, they wouldn’t be in this predicament, now would they?

Another sigh, “I don’t think this place will ever feel like home, Bev. It’s just an empty room, that I keep filling with forgotten dreams.” A snicker meets her statement, she glared at the culprit.

“Sorry, sorry.” She snorts, sounding completely unapologetic, “You just sound so much like Will sometimes, it’s crazy. Are you sure you two aren’t some genetic experiment gone wrong? Maybe birthed from the same mother, but lost to the government. Oh my God. It’s a conspiracy! I wonder if Jack’s in on it.” She stops, looking deeply contemplative.

Fury lit up Abigail’s eyes, her fists clenching at the effort, “That’s ridiculous.”

“You’re right, you’re right.” Beverly nods, “Jack can’t keep a secret. So it must go deeper. Maybe all the way to the President!”

“Not about Jack! About Will. We are nothing alike. At all.” Stomping her foot for emphasis, she shot daggers at the other woman.

Raising her hands in surrender, Beverly walked fully into the room, “Alright, alright, I give. You win. Geez, you’d think a kid could take a compliment once in awhile.”

“That’s not a compliment. That is the worst thing you could say to me. That-that-that man is nothing like me. And I’m nothing like him.” Plopping down on her bed, the brunette’s face turned amused, “I’m not a monster. I didn’t wreck anyone’s lives just for a job. That was all him.” Finished, and exhausted from her tirade, she slipped to the floor whispering, “Please tell me I’m not like him…”

She couldn’t be. She _wasn’t_.

Was she?

Smile gone for now, Beverly fell from the bed to her knees, making her way over to the young girl. Wrapping her arms around the smaller body, she pulled the woman into an embrace. No, not woman. Child. For that’s what she was, just a little girl; burdened with horror so early in life.

“Oh, Abbi. I wish you could see the world through unclogged eyes. Will’s not so bad, not really. I mean, granted, he can’t date worth a heck, and he only has a humor that ranges from morbid, to sarcastic.” A snort escaped her mouth. She remembered the time they had all gone out for drinks, and Brian had drunkenly invited Will to his humble abode. The resulting conversation had long since been forgotten by Zeller, but Beverly would never forget it.

_“You can’t be serious.” Will huffed, gagging on his drink._

__

_“C’mon Will. I know you like me. I see the way you’ve been looking at me all night.”_

__

_Will looked bewildered, “I have?” Brian threw an arm over the empath’s shoulders, unsuccessfully trying to pull him closer. Beverly giggled behind her hand like a little girl at the display._

__

_“I can see the lust in your eyes, the want. I know it.” That seemed to take the last of Will’s patience as he lifted the man’s arm and placed it down at his side, before shifting around the table in disgust._

__

_“Yeah, completely enthralled. It must be the stench of alcohol on your breath. Or maybe the, oh so, smooth way you entwined me with your words. How did it go? ‘Hey, Will. You should come over tonight. I promise to go easy on you.’” Will shook his head, one hand over his heart, “You should be a poet.”_

__

The next day, Brian had vehemently denied it ever happening. He happily proclaimed himself to be straight, and wouldn’t hear otherwise. There was actually a pot going on at work about when he would come out of the closet -again- and ask out Price.

(Even Jack got in on it, but pretends he doesn’t know it’s going on.)

“What’s so funny?” Ah, Abigail. She’d been lost in thought. She could only hope the girl hadn’t said anything important.

“Just remembering sassy Will. He is one hell of a wingman.” In that no one would approach you inappropriately when he was in your general vicinity. Must be the serial killer vibe. “Look, Abbi, I know Will seems bad, and this situation is less than ideal, but give the poor guy a break; at least he’s trying here. Now what he’s trying to do is neither here nor there-”

“He’s trying to take my dad’s place.” Abigail pulled her face from the older woman’s shoulder, noting the damp spot that lingered, “I know he is And I can’t let him.”

Shaking her head, “Sweety, Will isn’t trying to steal your father’s memory. He just wants to help.”

“Well I don’t want him too!” She growled, pulling away from Beverly and standing to pace the floor, “I don’t _want_ his sympathy. I don’t _need_ his support. I loathe _the thought_ of his _help_. I just want him to _**leave me alone!!**_ ”

_‘There it is, the root of the problem’_ Beverly thought, a sad smile on her face. There was nothing Will could do in a situation like this. It was a give and take scenario, and without Abbi giving, her friend had little to nothing to work with to develop a relationship from. And Beverly knew Will wouldn’t go into something like this, unless he knew for certain it would be beneficial for him, and not just end with another person leaving. No, Beverly was faced with a sad, sad truth.

Things would remain as strained as they had been, unless she thought of something fast.

And think she did.

“Okay, that’s it.”

Abigail paused in her pacing, almost tripping through the momentum, “What’s it?”

“Come with me.” Grabbing the protesting girl’s hand, Beverly raced down the stairs, stepping over the dogs that laid precariously on the edge of a few steps. Finally, she stopped in the kitchen in time to see her friend rub his tired eyes over his coffee cup and yawn. He looked an absolute wreck.

“Beverly? What are you doing here? It’s,” He looks briefly at his wrist, switching to the wall when his watch is missing, “already 10 AM? Jesus…” Scrubbing his hands over his face, he looks back up at her. Pity ate away at Beverly’s belly, a nagging reminder of Will’s nightmares. Determination followed swiftly after. That’s why she’s doing this. Because, as much as Abigail needed someone right now, Will needed her more.

That’s why this had to work.

“Will, grab your coat. We’re going thrift shopping.”

 

**Author's Note:**

> Love it? Hate it? REALLY hate it? First fan-fiction, please be gentle.


End file.
